I’m a mat and I still retain Accumulated stories of the tawdry years I’ve been stamped out by rum-fuelled boots The brute, us hiding under stairs
Waiting for his thunder to hit Waiting for his thunder and thinking is this it? Waiting for his thunder to shout Waiting for his thunder to tire itself out
So I lie flat, in sheets worn thin By his sublimations that reside within For I’m the truth, the two in ten That suffer at the whims of the weakest men
Waiting for his thunder to hit Waiting for his thunder and thinking is this it? Waiting for his thunder to shout Waiting for his thunder to tire itself out
Each bruise I use as a chronicle of all that you gave me now And every scar a reminder of the power that you had The saddest part about the darkest hours The implication that the fault was ours
Waiting for his thunder... Waiting for his thunder to hit Waiting for his thunder and thinking is this it?Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
